


Furthering His Agenda

by alyse



Category: Primeval
Genre: Bestiality, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-29
Updated: 2009-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-05 10:43:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyse/pseuds/alyse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lester has always had a thing for fur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Furthering His Agenda

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/mmom/profile)[**mmom**](http://community.livejournal.com/mmom/). [](http://moonlettuce.livejournal.com/profile)[**moonlettuce**](http://moonlettuce.livejournal.com/) made me do it.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fandom: primeval](http://alyse.livejournal.com/tag/fandom:+primeval), [fic fandom: primeval](http://alyse.livejournal.com/tag/fic+fandom:+primeval), [fic genre: crack!](http://alyse.livejournal.com/tag/fic+genre:+crack%21), [mmom: 2009](http://alyse.livejournal.com/tag/mmom:+2009)  
  
---|---  
  
**Spoilers:** Series 2  
**Disclaimer:** Primeval and its characters belong to Impossible Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended. This is fanfiction, written solely for love of the show.  
**Warnings:** Thoughts of bestiality

-o-

Sir James Lester's wife owned a considerable number of furs, as befitted her station in life. In fact, it was said among their set that perhaps James indulged her just a tad too much than was seemly. Not that the woman wasn't delightful and always impeccably turned out. But still. There was something about the conspicuous consumption that was just a little bit on the showy side.

James Lester didn't care. Apart from the fact that no one would, of course, be so impolite as to say anything to either of their faces (especially not when it was simplicity and perfection itself to slide the knife in from behind and twist it with a smile), there was the simple fact that it wasn't his wife that James was indulging.

He'd always had a thing for fur.

Sometimes, in his city apartment, when his wife was ensconced in their country home with their two point four adorable children and equally adorable but far better trained dog, James would close his eyes and treat himself to a little something special.

In his mind's eye, a dark, luxurious halo is spread around his partner, thick and soft to the touch. And it's just begging to be touched - he'd slide his hand over the surface, petting and stroking, listening to the soft sound of his partner's pleasure. The hairs would wrap around his fingers, tangling them up in the soft coat, and, while he's picturing that, his fingers wrap around his hard-on, lightly at first, mimicking the actions he's fantasising about, but gripping harder, more frantically, as his imagination takes flight.

The pelt would be soft against his penis, and he'd rub up against it, feeling each hair as it brushed over him. Sometimes he's already naked in this fantasy, his clothes vanishing easily; no mess, no fuss. Other times, when he has longer to indulge - the meetings spaced out, no immediate potentially world ending crisis demanding his attention - he imagines instead his lover peeling away each garment, one by one, with loving care, soft breath caressing his ear while his partner delicately explored his body, skilfully seeking out the areas that gave James the most pleasure.

Those are the most enjoyable fantasies, the ones where he builds up ever more complex scenarios - how this would feel, how that. His imaginary lover is eager but never impatient, always taking the time to stroke and caress James' skin, gently probing at his anus, wrapping around and lightly tugging James' cock.

In those fantasies, he can almost smell the thick, musky scent of his lover; almost hear his lover's huffing pleasure as he finally comes, his heels digging into the bed. He comes so hard that he coats his hands and splatters his belly with thick white streamers, the pulses of liquid sometimes reaching as far his chest.

When he opens his eyes, he's lying on his wife's spare fur coat, left here from her last flying visit, and his imaginary lover's triumphant trumpeting is still ringing in his ears.

He sighs and drags himself to his feet, stalking to the bathroom to clean himself up. As he stares into the mirror, checking his reflection and smoothing down his hair, he thinks that perhaps he really should get Leek to investigate the practicalities around shipping a Colombian mammoth to the country and storing it safely. After all, his estate has to be better for the poor thing than the ARC, and he's sure that with a little persuasion that Cutter will come to see things his way.

There's no need to mention that it won't just be his children who'd enjoy a new pet.

The End


End file.
